Chapter 3

I opened my eyes to one bone crusher of a headache. I lay flat on my back, tree branches looming above me. The leaves were too thick to see the sky above, but I sensed fair weather.

Someone said, “Your prisoner rouses.”

It was a deep voice and in a strange language, but even stranger was the fact that I understood it. Then I recognized it to be a Norman dialect of Anglo-Saxon. Where did I hear that before? Then it came to me — the beautiful girl spoke to me in that language. But, wait, that same girl clobbered me.

“Oh,” I groaned, putting my hand to my left temple. It was tender, and my fingers came away with blood on the tips. The face of an angel entered my view. But, no, it was no angel but a devil in disguise. It was the girl that attacked me. I struggled to rise and back away from her, but I was too dizzy.

“I see you have awakened,” the girl said. Her voice was soft, perhaps even charming, but I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm.

I almost spoke in English but then remembered the last time I did that was when she knocked me out. I had to think a moment and then spoke in Anglo-Saxon. “You hit me with a club,” I accused. “Why?”

“By your barbaric language and strange raiment, we thought you an enemy scout,” she replied. “Be you genteel or plebeian?”

It took me a moment to understand what she was talking about. I raised up on my elbows and saw the big guy in the chainmail scowling at me. He leaned against a tree, cleaning his fingernails with a wicked-looking dagger. Then I remembered they were probably from a nearby Renaissance fair, but I began to have my doubts about that. Perhaps they were escapees from an insane asylum. I decided to tread carefully. “I am not of the gentry, nor am I a pleb. I am a middle-class tradesman.”

“So, you are not a knight or soldier of an invading army?”

“No, of course not. I’m just lost, that’s all.”

The girl turned to her companion and said, “I believe this man is no foe. He shall not be our prisoner.” He grunted, and she turned back to me. “What is your name?”

“Sam, Sam Gordon.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sam Sam Gordon.”

“No,” I corrected. “One Sam will do. My name is Sam Gordon, but you can call me Sam.”

“My name is Margot,” she replied and waved a hand towards her companion. “And this is Sir Robert, my escort.” Her eyes shifted up and to the right, and she continued, “I am just a poor serving girl on the road to Camelot seeking employment. This brave knight thought it unwise for a damsel to travel alone and decided to come with me for my protection.”

She was obviously giving me a rehearsed line of bullshit. This was no serving girl. Her mannerisms led me to believe that she came from money, but by their costumes and that bit about going to Camelot, I figured she was taking the whole role-playing thing to the hilt.

“Camelot?” I queried. “The one with King Arthur and the roundtable?”

“Yes. It is said that the king is a just and fair man and that he turns no one in need from his gates. And to where do you travel, Sam?”

I was about to tell her that I really needed to get back to San Francisco, having no idea how I got here. Where here is, I had no idea either. I was beginning to think that I had blacked out from some drug Miller had slipped me as a practical joke, but I was starting to have some more disturbing theories about what had happened to me. For instance, to the best of my knowledge, no one spoke archaic Anglo-Saxon anymore. But to think that I actually traveled through time? No, that’s just impossible. So, thinking a moment while this girl stared at me expectantly, I thought I would do well to find a sane individual who could give me some answers.

“Uh,” I replied. “I too travel to Camelot in hopes to apply my skills as a metalworker.”

“Ah, so you are a blacksmith. I have heard that Arthur is seeking blacksmiths to increase his armory. I have no doubt that you shall do well there. You will travel with us.”

I was hoping for this, and she saved me from asking, but Sir Robert looked less than pleased with this prospect and said, “Methinks this a bad idea. We should leave him.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Sam is coming with us, I have decided.” The knight nodded in acquiescence.

I got to my feet and regretted it because my head pounded all the more. “I really wish you wouldn’t have hit me.”

“Truly,” she replied. “You have my apology, but a maiden such as I cannot be too careful.

I almost snorted but held my tongue. I would’ve guessed Margot to be about eighteen or nineteen and seriously doubted that a girl that old would be a virgin, but who knows? Wonders never cease. I extracted my water bottle from my pack and washed my wound. “Shall we go?”

I had intended to walk, but Margot insisted that we ride double. I didn’t trust girls with big sticks, and I did not like having her out of my sight. However, I must admit I enjoyed the feel of her against my back and her hands about my waist.

We traveled north and had not gone far when we encountered a knight in plate armor. He sat astride his horse about twenty yards ahead, looking us over curiously.

“Wait here,” Robert said. He walked his horse towards the knight and reined in about half the distance between us.

“Who are you, and what is your purpose?” The knight asked. He spoke in the Celtic language of Breton.

The fact that I had become a polyglot of ancient languages still amazed me. Growing up in California, it was not unusual to encounter several people in one day who didn’t speak English. However, finding everyone here speaking in an ancient tongue was convincing me that I may have slipped through a portal to another world. Either that or Miller had some really good drugs that lingered in my system.

“I am Sir Robert, and these two commoners are under my care. We journey to Camelot. May I have your name, Sir Knight?”

“I am Sir Agravain, and Arthur has enough mouths to feed in Camelot. Although, the lass is rather comely. How much do you want for her?”

“The damsel is not for sale,” Sir Robert replied with an edge of steel in his voice.

Margo tensed and emitted a low growl.

“I shall use her quickly,” Agravain said. “You can have her back when I am finished with her.”

Sir Robert drew his sword.